


Steve Rogers

by clokkerfoot



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Artist Steve Rogers, Asexual Steve Rogers, Flirting, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Swearing, Trans Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clokkerfoot/pseuds/clokkerfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve still met in an alleyway. Bucky still put the fear of God into the bullies that abused Steve for who he was. The world around them was a little different, and the boys themselves were a little different, but this is still the story of Steve and Bucky, and they were still exactly who they needed to be.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>“How long have you known?” Bucky asked, quietly, while Steve untied his shoelaces.</em></p><p>  <em>Steve froze for a moment, shoulders tight and high, but resumed untying the laces while he spoke, “Since I was a kid, I guess. I didn't realise for a long time, and I didn't come to terms with it until last year, ‘til my eighteenth birthday when I got twenty pink cards with daughter and niece and aunt on them, but I guess I've always known, in some way.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightemup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightemup/gifts).



> WARNING: the beginning of this is chock-full of transphobic comments and actions. There's also some physical violence, but it's not very graphic and it's for a good reason, for the most part.
> 
> (Also, plot credit goes to @lightemup. Thanks!!)

Bucky was just passing the alley on his way to Starbucks when he heard the shouting.

“Are you a fucking  _ girl,  _ Rogers? Is that why you never take your fucking shirt off in front of us? Have you got a pair of tits on your chest?”

“Please leave me alone.  _ Please _ .”

Bucky stopped walking and hung back behind the entrance to the alley, listening. It  _ did _ sound vaguely like there was a woman in there, but he or she was outnumbered by at least two men.

“‘Oooh, please, boys, leave me alone! I’m just a frail little woman!’ Grow a pair, you tranny! Oh, wait, you can’t! You’ve got a fucking pussy, haven’t you? You got a cat between your legs? Why don’t you show us, eh Rogers?”

“Stop it! I’ll—I’ll—”

“What?! What are you gonna do? Call for help, like some girl being fingered in a parking lot after being a cocktease? You gonna do that? You a fucking cocktease, Rogers? You want our cocks, is that it? It ain’t gay if you’re a fucking girl, right? Come here—hold her down! Get her fucking shirt off! Let’s see those tits!”

“Stop it! Stop! Get away from me!”

Bucky couldn’t listen anymore. He heard a rip of thin material, then a high-pitched scream. Passersby on the street turned their heads away, walking faster, deliberately ignorant to the injustice that was happening in the alley, and Bucky launched himself into the thick of it.

“Oi!” he yelled, loud as he could, “What the fuck are you doing?”

The figures in the alley froze. There were three men, about Bucky’s height, pulling a crisp white shirt away from a smaller, thinner man who was cowering against the wall and staring at Bucky like he was Christ reborn.

The tallest man released his hold on the smaller man’s collar and advanced on Bucky. Bucky tipped his chin up and met the man’s gaze, staring him down with as much fury as he could. He’d scrapped with men half a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than him before, and he could beat these three bullies into the ground if he had to.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man asked, his fat lips curling up into an aggressive grin, “This ain’t your business. Take your prissy little briefcase and get outta here before we beat your ass, too.”

Bucky sniffed and gripped the handle of his briefcase tighter, “Leave that guy alone.”

The young man in question inhaled and choked a little on air when the bullies who were still holding him tightened their grips on his shirt. Bucky could feel his pulse speeding up with every second that passed. He hated violence, but—

“Go on. Get out of here.”

Bucky linked gazes with the young man against the wall. There was no way that Bucky was going to leave this alley without him.

“Let him go, and I won’t hurt you,” Bucky said calmly, “Last chance.”

The man snorted and cracked his knuckles, “You really want a fight? You fucking got one.”

He’d barely swung a left hook before Bucky had smashed his briefcase into his chin. The man recoiled from the blow, blood spraying upwards from his mouth. Bucky didn’t give him chance to recover—he leapt forward and brought the briefcase down on the man’s shoulder, hard enough to make him drop to the floor.

‘Prissy little briefcase’. That’s what he’d said.  _ Not so prissy now, huh? _ Bucky thought, half-amused, as the man began to cry.

The two other men came forward, and Bucky could tell from their hesitation that they weren’t as confident as the man currently wailing for his mom on the ground. He dropped his briefcase and readied his fist. The larger of the two rushed at him, hollering a curse, and Bucky landed a punch right in his gut, sending him flying backwards.

The third man—he was hardly larger than the boy they’d been bullying—jumped at Bucky, wielding a blade. Bucky caught him by the wrist and swung him up and down onto the ground, only relenting when he heard the telltale crack of bone.

The first man, now bloody from the chin up, scrambled to his feet and ran out of the alley, followed closely by the other two. Bucky caught the last on the ass with a kick.

“Don’t you come back here, you goddamn cowards!” Bucky yelled after them. 

He brushed himself down, and walked over to the young man against the wall. The man flinched and held up his hands.

“Don’t kick my ass too,” the man said, quietly. Bucky noticed, now, that he was far, far skinnier than he had thought. He could see the jut of his ribs pushing out through his skin, underneath the bandages that were wrapped around his chest. Bucky’s heart ached, and his stomach started doing cartwheels. He recognised those bandages, and the shapes beneath them couldn’t be anything other than what the bullies had been yelling about.

Bucky’s face must’ve betrayed him, because the man flushed and pulled the remnants of his white shirt around him, covering up the stained bandages.

“Thanks for, er, getting rid of them,” the man mumbled, “I gotta go now. Thanks.”

The man looked away from Bucky, down at the ground, and edged away from him. He set off towards the end of the alley Bucky had come from, clutching his ruined shirt, and Bucky sighed.

“Rogers?”

The man paused and turned around, “What?”

“Rogers. That’s your name, isn’t it?” Bucky smiled and laid his briefcase on the ground. He removed his suit jacket and held it out, “Here. Take it. I won’t make you hang around if you don’t want to, but I won’t let you walk off wearing  _ that _ .”

Bucky held his smile when the man came forward to collect the jacket. He pulled it on and  _ Christ _ , it was at least four sizes too big for him, but he nodded gratefully. The sleeves hung down over his hands, the hems brushing his knuckles, and the last button came down to his  _ knees. _

“Steve. Steve Rogers. That’s my name.”

Bucky nodded, “Hi, Steve. I’m Bucky Barnes.”

Steve raised his eyebrow and laughed once, “What kinda name is Bucky?” he caught himself when he began to smile, and shrunk right back into shyness, practically curling in on himself.

Bucky shrugged, “It’s James, really, but I’ve always been Bucky. James  _ Buchanan _ Barnes, actually,” he pressed his lips together, “I’m way cooler that my name, I promise.”

Steve snorted and laughed, openly and shamelessly, and Bucky’s throat tightened. Steve was quite attractive, really. His hair was—well, it was a disgrace. He was blonde, and could’ve done a lot with the mop on his head, but had settled for a feminine undercut that didn’t match his young face at all. Steve was slouching forward far enough to make Bucky’s jacket bunch up under his ears.

Bucky pursed his lips and folded his arms over his chest, “Will you come to Bloomingdales with me? You could do with a new shirt.”

Steve blanched, “I can’t—no, I can’t go there.”

“It’s just around the corner,” Bucky persisted, “It’s not far. You don’t have to go alone, or anything. I know a tailor, and he’ll—”

“I can’t  _ afford _ it, Buck,” Steve exhaled, “Er, Bucky.”

Bucky’s heart sank. He hadn’t even considered—God, he was just the worst person  _ ever _ . He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

“‘S’okay,” Steve smiled, but it was so sad that Bucky didn’t count it as a real smile. Bucky swore to himself, right then, that he was going to make Steve genuinely smile before the day was out, “I don’t need your help, anyway. I’m not a damsel in distress, or anything.”

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t need to help with those guys, either,” Steve continued, his expression harried, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but I didn’t mean for you to step in. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, I didn’t have to help you,” Bucky breathed, “I  _ wanted _ to.”

They both fell silent. Steve was refusing to meet Bucky’s gaze again, and he was glaring at a sodden cardboard box on the floor beside the wall.

“Let me buy you a new shirt,” Bucky said, quietly, once a few moments had passed and Steve’s glare had become less heated, “Just let me do that for you, then we can part ways and pretend we never met, if that’s what you want.”

Steve bit his lip, then nodded, slowly, “Just a shirt. That’s all. I don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not charity,” Bucky murmured, “Consider it a gift.”

Steve shrugged, then headed for the alley exit. He had his arms wrapped around his torso, pulling Bucky’s jacket as tightly around himself as he could. Bucky’s stomach began to twist when he followed his newfound companion, picking up his briefcase on his way out.

Bucky ended up leading the way, as Steve had apparently never visited the store on 59th. They weren’t far away, so they just walked rather than taking a cab.

“Do you live in Manhattan?” Bucky asked as they walked up 3rd Avenue. It was the middle of the afternoon, so the streets were humming with activity. Twice, Bucky went to grab Steve’s hand, just so he wouldn’t lose him in the crowd.

“Nah. I’m just here for the day,” Steve replied, “Brooklyn’s where I live. Brooklyn Heights.”

Bucky blanched, “You live in Brooklyn Heights?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Christ, Steve, don’t be so defensive,” Bucky teased, nudging him with his shoulder. Steve flinched away, giving him a sideways glare, “I used to live in Brooklyn Heights, tha’s all.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“Main Street.”

Steve looked at him, clearly surprised and absolutely  _ adorable _ , “That’s where I live.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. We could’ve been neighbours.”

Bucky laughed, “We probably were. I only moved out a coupl’a months back. I live in Manhattan now, a few streets away from Central Park. Great views, but I do miss the Heights. Used to take classes at  _ Minus Space _ every Saturday. I miss that most, I think.”

They crossed the street, and Bucky caught sight of the Bloomingdales sign in the distance. Steve wove through the crowd easier than he did, ducking unnoticed under the arms of a street performer on stilts who leered down at Bucky. Bucky flipped his middle finger up at the performer, who was completely blocking the sidewalk, then raced after Steve.

“C’mon, slowpoke,” Steve teased when Bucky caught up. They resumed walking side-by-side, and Steve continued their previous conversation, “Are you an artist, then?  _ Minus Space _ don’t teach novices.”

“I’m not a professional artist,” Bucky admitted, “But I do like to paint. I’m kinda good, I guess. What about you?”

“I’m an artist by trade.”

Bucky whistled and stuck his hands into his pockets, “That must be fun.”

Steve fixed him with a stare, “Buck, I can’t even afford  _ shirts _ . That one the guys ripped up was—well, it was my only good shirt,” Bucky smiled at that; half joyously at the nickname, half sadly at Steve’s admission, before Steve rushed to finish speaking, “Not that you care, um. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. And I  _ do  _ care.”

They walked in silence, shoulders brushing occasionally. It was only when they arrived at the front doors of Bloomingdales that Steve spoke again.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes bright, “You don't  _ have _ to.”

Bucky smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Gently, he pushed Steve through the doorway into the air-conditioned store, whispered in his ear, “I  _ want _ to,” and smiled more widely when Steve shivered and nodded. 

Bucky’s tailor—a tall, slim man called Jarvis who was  _ definitely _ a butler in another life—met them at the entrance to the men's department and led them through to the fitting rooms in the back of the department.

“Mr Barnes, we’ve popped you into dressing room number two today,” Jarvis said, as cheerful as ever and practically bouncing on his toes. Bucky opened his mouth to speak, but Jarvis continued, now speaking to Steve, “Ma’am, if you'd like to wait in the lounge while Mr Barnes is measured, we will have some champagne brought out.”

Steve grimaced at Bucky’s side, and Bucky tried not to yell at Jarvis when Steve shrank back into the folds of Bucky’s jacket. 

“Jarvis, this is Steve,” Bucky said, calmly, “And  _ he _ will be measured today, not me. For an entire suit. You can put the bill on my card, as usual.”

Jarvis’s mouth fell open in surprise and he stared right at Steve, who looked like he wanted to sink through the floor, “Oh. Right. Of course. Right this way, sirs.”

They were just inside the dressing room when Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand.

“Buck,” Steve said, breathing far too heavily in a breathless kind of way that made Bucky cold with worry for the hundredth time that hour, “Please don't make me do this. I can't—I don't want him to see—”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s sweaty, shaking hand, and nodded, “It's okay. You don't have to.”

“Can you—” Steve swallowed hard, sending a ball of motion down his throat, “Can you measure me?”

Bucky shrugged, trying not to be  _ too _ overwhelmed by the trust Steve had just placed in him, “Don't see why not,” he turned to Jarvis, who was waiting expectantly in the doorway with a fabric measuring ruler, “Hey, Jarvis, can I measure Steve? I've seen you do it a hundred times on me and my father, so I reckon I could do Steve.”

Steve choked. Jarvis looked  _ mortified _ .

“I mean—I mean I could  _ measure _ Steve.”

Jarvis raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, but held out the measuring tape for Bucky to take. He left Bucky and Steve alone in the dressing room. 

“Right, I'll go outside while you, um, get undressed,” Bucky mumbled, running his thumb along the measuring tape.

Steve shook his head, “You don't have to. You're gonna see me without my clothes on anyway.”

Bucky’s head nodded without him telling it to. He took a step away from Steve and gave him room to change. In all his life, Bucky had never felt more trusted by someone he hardly knew. Steve was practically a stranger, but here he was, undressing in front of Bucky even though he had problems with his body. Christ, Bucky could've guessed that Steve hated his body from his posture alone. He didn’t need to see the bandages around Steve’s chest or hear the bullies’ slurs to know Steve wasn’t happy with who he was.

“How long have you known?” Bucky asked, quietly, while Steve untied his shoelaces.

Steve froze for a moment, shoulders tight and high, but resumed untying the laces while he spoke, “Since I was a kid, I guess. I didn't realise for a long time, and I didn't come to terms with it until last year, ‘til my eighteenth birthday when I got twenty pink cards with  _ daughter _ and  _ niece _ and  _ aunt _ on them, but I guess I've always known, in some way.”

Bucky smiled when Steve neatly lined his shoes up against the wall and tucked the laces into them. Steve stood upright, unbuckled his belt, and Bucky looked away.

“You can look,” Steve said, quietly, “It's alright. I just don't like strangers lookin’ at me funny.”

“I'm a stranger,” Bucky teased, poking at Steve’s calf with the toe of his shoe, “But I'm not lookin’ at you funny. I swear I'm not.”

“I know,” Steve smiled at him in the mirror, and  _ God _ , there it was. The million dollar prize. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Steve Rogers, smiling. What a sight to behold that was. 

Bucky cleared his throat after what he figured was a minute of staring into Steve’s mirror-eyes, “You look good when you smile. Suits ya.”

“Mm,” Steve hummed. 

He stepped out of his pants and hung them on a hook on the wall. Bucky couldn't help but look at Steve’s legs. He was covered in blonde hairs from hip to ankle, but his hips were so wide and his ankles so thin. Steve was wearing red boxer shorts that clung to his rounded thighs, and—

“Yeah, there's nothin’ there,” Steve mumbled, gesturing at his flat crotch. He wasn't looking at himself in the mirror, wasn't looking at his own body, and was instead staring right at Bucky like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“I don't care,” Bucky said, “Doesn't matter. You don't need that to be a man, Steve.”

Steve shrugged, “Wouldn't’ve minded it, though. Might've made all this easier.”

Bucky nodded. He couldn't relate to how uncomfortable Steve was with himself and with his body, but he could understand it to a certain extent. Steve returned Bucky’s jacket, handed it over with shaking hands, and Bucky hung it on the wall. And then, in the middle of the dressing room, was the skinny boy that Bucky had found in an alleyway, being threatened by three men who had no right to bully someone half their size.

“You don't have to take your shirt off,” Bucky said, when Steve’s quivering hands clutched at the remnants of his shirt. 

“I do,” Steve stammered, his voice almost a gasp, “I do.”

Bucky clenched his teeth and watched as Steve peeled the white fabric away from himself. He clenched his teeth harder when he saw the stained yellow bandages wrapped around Steve’s chest.

Steve had clearly been wearing the bandages for too long. Bucky caught sight of old sweat stains underneath both of his arms when Steve lifted up his arms to pull his shirt sleeves away. The bandages were too tight, and they had left several red marks in Steve’s skin, marking the different places where the bandages had been strapped throughout the time Steve had been wearing them.

_ Wearing _ was not the word, Bucky thought. Steve had been  _ trapped _ in the bandages, even more than he had been trapped in his body. They were not an appropriate garment, that much was clear, and Bucky was angry at Steve for not taking better care of himself. Why had he not asked for help? Did no one care about Steve Rogers?

Steve nodded at Bucky in the mirror, and stood up straight. He was still avoiding looking at his own reflection.

“These bandages must be damaging you,” Bucky said, trying to keep his voice level, “No wonder you can't breathe properly.”

“I didn't know what else to do,” Steve muttered, “I improvised. I can barely afford food, let alone a binder.” 

Bucky bit his tongue and kept silent. He ran the measuring tape along the appropriate places, where he needed measurements. As he measured, he noted the numbers down in a notebook he fetched from his briefcase.

The list for Steve’s new shirt was short, but the numbers horrified Bucky.

_ Neck, twelve inches. _

_ Chest, thirty inches. _

_ Sleeve, thirty-one inches. _

_ Waist, twenty-four inches.  _

_ Hip, thirty-five inches.  _

Steve was too small. The tape measure could've looped around his waist twice with very little effort.

“You're too skinny,” Bucky commented as he ran the tape down the outside of Steve's leg, along an imaginary seam, “We should get you to a gym and a burger joint and bulk you up a bit.”

“I couldn't ever put on weight. My mom used to stuff me full of potatoes and chips when I was younger, trying to get my weight above a hundred pounds, but she never even came close.”

Bucky paused. Steve didn't weigh more than a hundred pounds. The thought terrified him. Even his baby sister weighed more than that, and she was a very slim girl. He measured Steve’s waist once more, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined the minuscule figure, then rolled the measuring tape up into a ball.

“All done.”

Steve smiled again. It was shy, and not quite a full smile, but it made Bucky’s stomach do wild things. He’d hardly known this boy for more than an hour, but  _ God _ , it felt like they’d been friends half their lives.

“Thanks, Buck,” he said warmly.

Bucky smiled right back, “Anytime, pal.”

Bucky handed the list of measurements and fabric tape back to Jarvis while Steve got dressed again. Jarvis’ eyes widened at the list, but Bucky fixed him with a glare and Jarvis didn't say a damn thing. 

Steve came out of the dressing room, dressed in Bucky’s jacket again. He wasn't hugging it quite as tightly around himself anymore, but he still shrank away from the walls and other customers like they were poisonous. Bucky led him out into the waiting area beside the fitting rooms and sat him down. 

“I'm going to run out and do an errand,” Bucky said, “Are you okay to wait here while I go do that?”

“Errand?”

“Something personal. Nothing important,” Bucky stared down at Steve, who was looking up at him with unexplained fear in his eyes. Bucky couldn't help but cup Steve’s smooth jaw in his hand, and he was pleasantly surprised when Steve didn't flinch away, “I won't be gone long. The adjustments to your suit will only take a half hour or so, and I'll be back before then. We can have coffee, too, if you want. No pressure.”

Steve shrugged. He looked overwhelmed, but comfortable, now, “Sure. Coffee sounds good.”

Bucky nodded and removed his hand. Steve leaned into it for half a second before he did, and Bucky’s stomach began to perform cartwheels again. He looked away from Steve’s wonderful face just before the urge to kiss him became too much for Bucky to bear.

He was only gone ten minutes, in the end. He had run straight from Bloomingdales to the pop-up LGBT store at the corner of 52nd. The email advert promising ‘ _ wares for individuals of all genders and sexualities _ ’ had piqued his interest when he received it that Monday, but he hadn't intended to drop by until the moment he saw Steve’s bandages. The binder—a neat black elasticated band with shoulder straps and a two strips of Velcro—cost Bucky fifty dollars, but he didn't care one bit. He had just bought Steve a four hundred dollar suit, and he could spare another fifty.

Steve was sat with his ankles crossed and a glass of champagne in his hand when Bucky returned to the store. He actually  _ brightened _ when he saw Bucky walk into the waiting area. God, he was just too much.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve asked. 

Bucky took a seat opposite him and held out the rainbow-printed paper bag, “It's for you.”

Steve frowned, “What?”

“A gift. For you.”

Steve looked confused to all-hell, but he accepted the bag and looked inside. The explosively happy expression that spread across his features lasted for only a moment before he fixed Bucky with a sharp glare.

“Why are you doing all this?” Steve asked, the guard back up around his words again, “The suit. The binder.  _ Coffee _ . What have I done to deserve all this?”

Bucky shrugged and leaned back in his chair, “You’ve not done anything, Steve. You're just  _ you _ .”

“What does that even  _ mean _ ?”

“It means that I think you're a good guy,” Bucky said, smiling, “And I think your heart is in the right place, about  _ everything _ . So, if you'll let me, I would like to propose that I buy you coffee and new clothes and new art supplies, and that in return you let me hang out with you.”

Steve grimaced, “You want to  _ buy _ my friendship?”

“Fuck, no!” Bucky laughed, “I just want to make you happy. Is that alright?”

“We met, like, an hour and a half ago.”

“So?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.

Bucky nudged Steve’s foot with his own, “We’ll get you a packer when you feel up to it. Just for now, we’ll start with the binder and a cup of coffee in about ten minutes. How does that sound?”

Steve nodded. Slowly, he began to smile. Bucky wondered if he’d ever get sick of that smile. Somehow, he knew he wouldn't. He  _ couldn't _ . 

“You gonna go try it on or what?” Bucky demanded, grinning.

Steve nodded again, furiously, then ran over to the dressing room. Bucky’s jacket flapped behind him, too big for him now but a promise of something to come. And Bucky continued to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve binds using bandages, but I do NOT condone this method of binding. You should always try to use an elasticated breathable binder such as those sold by T-Kingdom, Underworks and Shapeshifters Inc.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a packer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raviolli on Tumblr did some [absolutely beautiful art](https://raviolli.tumblr.com/post/140728630098/tiny-trans-steve-and-amputee-bucky-for-this) for this chapter. Thank you so much!!

“Happy birthday, Steve!” Bucky yelled at the top of his lungs, right in Steve’s ear. Steve flinched and grabbed at the cushion in his lap, eyes wide. Bucky laughed and came round to stand in front of the couch, gift-box in hand. 

Steve was wearing his casual get-up, lounge pants and his black binder. Bucky was in his own matching pants and not much else. They made a good pair, Bucky thought.

“Aw, Buck, I told you not to get me a gift. You're already paying for the takeout tonight and the cake and  _ everything _ ,” Steve complained. Bucky shrugged and grinned, wondering how he’d managed to nab such a selfless boyfriend.

Bucky plopped himself down on the sofa and held the carefully-wrapped (but definitely not  _ well _ -wrapped) gift-box out to Steve. Bucky had been waiting well over two months to give the gift to Steve on his 20th birthday, and he was absolutely certain that he was gonna  _ love _ it.

Since meeting Steve in the alley half a year ago, Bucky had shamelessly fallen in love with his newfound best friend. Steve had moved out of Brooklyn Heights and into Bucky’s apartment within a month, and had made it his personal mission to paint murals on every single wall (“It's so plain! Just a couple of walls?” “ _ Fine.  _ Just don't draw rainbow dicks everywhere, or you’re outta here, mister.”) and so far, he had succeeded.

Bucky didn't regret his move-in invitation one bit. Steve was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Bucky’s sister had just opened a _donut_ _store_.

Every day, Bucky appreciated Steve more and more. Steve wasn't always his usual, cheery self, and there were days when he couldn't even get out of bed in the mornings. Some days, Bucky had to dress Steve, just because he couldn't bring himself to look at or touch his own body. On other days, physical illness—Steve had every chronic illness in the book—would take Steve to hospital, and Bucky would struggle through tears when the doctors and nurses called his boyfriend  _ Stephanie _ and  _ she _ .

After the last hospital visit, when the doctor had suggested a smear and Steve had broken down into tears, Bucky dragged Steve down to the courthouse and changed his name. God, Steve  _ deserved _ to be who he was meant to be, more than anyone else in the world.

And for that reason—

“You got me a  _ packer _ ?” Steve's smile when he opened the box was so bright that it made Bucky’s heart skip a couple of beats.

“Not just any ol’ packer, either,” Bucky said. He reached into the box and pulled the packer out. It looked exactly like a real, gross veiny dick, but with a long flat base so that it could sit between Steve’s legs. Bucky waggled it in Steve’s face, grinning, “You can do all kindsa shit with it. You can pee with it while you’re standing up. There's a rod in the box that’s a boner stick or something, but you don't have to use that if you don't want—”

Bucky didn't finish his sentence. Steve leapt at him and enveloped him a hug so tight Bucky could hardly breathe.

“A simple ‘thank you’ would've been enough, Steve,” Bucky gasped, patting Steve on the back with the packer, “Ya don't need to strangle me.”

Steve released him and sat back with a shy smile. He took the packer from Bucky and played with it for a moment. He prodded his finger in the holes, ran his thumb down the floppy shaft, and cupped it in his palm. 

“Feels real,” Steve mumbled, “Like the real thing.”

“Better than the real thing, I'd say,” Bucky said with a nod, “These balls won't smell all sweaty.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, “Gross.”

Bucky hummed in agreement and sat back against the arm of the couch. Steve placed the packer back into the box and laid it on the floor beside the couch. Bucky raised his eyebrow, silently wondering why Steve didn't want to try the packer out, but Steve shuffled along the couch towards him and silenced his thoughts.

“Whatcha doin’, Stevie?” Bucky asked. Christ, he couldn't stop smiling. Steve was just… perfect.

“Wanna say thanks,” Steve said, low and sultry. He came forward and climbed onto Bucky’s lap, straddling his thighs. Bucky clenched his back teeth together and exhaled.

Steve wasn’t really interested in sex. Bucky didn't consider it an integral part of their relationship, and he'd never pushed Steve into anything more than what he was comfortable with. They had, admittedly, tried a few different things. Bucky had topped, once, but he’d reached round to touch Steve between his legs in the middle of it and Steve had begun to sob. Not the response Bucky wanted, persay, but he didn't ask questions.

Sometimes, Steve was okay with it. Bucky had gone down on him in the shower, and that had been okay. Another time, he’d brought Steve to orgasm with just the sensitive erogenous zones that weren't between his legs, and that had been okay, too. Most times, though, Steve did all the work and refused all the rewards. Bucky felt terrible about it, but he wasn't about to  _ force _ Steve to enjoy sex. 

And now, Steve was saying thank-you with a lap dance. Bucky didn't want that.

“Steve,” he murmured when Steve began to circle his hips right over Bucky’s crotch. It felt good,  _ too _ good, and Bucky hated himself for it.

“I wanna make you feel good, Buck,” Steve whispered lowly. The nervousness was right there in his voice, in the way his words came out shaky and light, “Don't you want that? Don't you want me?”

Bucky would've stopped him. He would've grabbed Steve by the shoulders and said  _ no _ , pushed him away and kissed him silly, but he’d left his prosthesis in the bedroom and even Steve could overpower Bucky when he only had one of his arms.

Bucky bit his lip when Steve moved against him particularly hard, “You don't want  _ me _ ,” he said, quietly, “And you don't have to do this. You really don't. I want to see  _ you _ happy, not just me.”

Steve stopped his movements and sat back heavily on Bucky’s thighs, frowning.

“I thought you'd be into that,” Steve grumbled, “I’d been planning that all morning.”

Bucky smiled and cupped Steve’s jaw, just like he had all those months ago in Bloomingdales, when he decided Steve was the one for him. Now, Steve leaned into his touch, closed his eyes and smiled, as if Bucky’s hand was the answer to all the questions Steve had ever asked.

“You don't need to keep doing that stuff,” Bucky said, dropping his hand, “You really,  _ really _ don't.”

“But you  _ like _ sex,” Steve whined, his hands palm-flat on Bucky’s bare chest now, “I’ve seen your Grindr profile!”

Bucky snorted and ruffled Steve’s hair, “That was for quick hook-ups and meaningless one night stands, not for a committed relationship, you dope!” he bent his arm against Steve’s chest and pushed him backwards until Steve was leaning back on his elbows, grinning up at him.

Bucky untangled himself from Steve and switched his position. He straddled Steve and leaned down to kiss him, smiling shamelessly against Steve’s soft, warm lips.

“Mm, you haven't brushed your teeth this morning,” Steve mumbled.

“You're one to talk, garlic-breath. Seriously, Steve, did you suck off a Frenchman?” Bucky muttered. He nipped at Steve’s lower lip, trying to kiss him properly, but Steve threw his head back and broke down into uncontrollable laughter. Bucky sat upright and watched, grinning—he couldn't stop!—as Steve snorted and giggled his way through a fit of laughter, his hand halfway covering his face.

By the end of it, they were both red in the face and tears were streaming down their cheeks. Bucky wasn't sure  _ why _ they were laughing, exactly, but it was just nice to see Steve so happy. Steve tried to kiss him again while he was still laughing, and ended up biting both their tongues. He pulled away and stuck his tongue out, sadly displaying the blood streaked across it. 

“Do you want to try your packer now?” Bucky asked. Steve nodded and shoved Bucky off of him. Bucky allowed it and sat back against the arm of the couch, bare feet up on the seat cushions, and waited patiently for Steve to fit the packer. 

Steve strolled back into the room in his binder and boxer shorts, sporting a bulge that rivalled Bucky’s own, and a confident smile to match.

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky said, softly, “Fuck, that looks real.”

“Don't it just?!” Steve cried, grinning madly. He grabbed the soft bulge and squeezed it, looking up at Bucky for approval, “I kinda need to pee, so I'm gonna go try that! Stay right there!”

Steve darted out of the room, still holding his crotch, and Bucky listened to the sounds of him moving around in the bathroom. Bucky crossed his ankles and leaned back, his arm beneath his head. The muffled sounds of the street outside were mingling wonderfully with Steve’s excited little squeaks, and Bucky had never felt more at home.

There was a brief silence, then— 

“Aw, I peed down my leg!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not really detailed explicitly, but Bucky bought Steve the 'Peecock' packer for his birthday, just in case you were wondering.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets his period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just my experience of being trans & having a period when you really, really don't want one. A short little chapter because I am currently _dying_ from my own ridiculous cramps and dysphoria, and I needed to work it out.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bucky asked, cautiously. Steve was lying on the floor in front of the couch with his ass up in the air and his arms pressed awkwardly under his body, his hands poking out between his knees. He was sort of… lying on the fronts of his shoulders and his face, which didn't look especially comfortable. “Do you want a, uh, pillow or anything?”

Steve groaned rather than answering, and Bucky felt  _ real _ bad for it but he still sniggered as he fetched a pillow for Steve to rest his face on. Whenever Steve had his period he completely shut down. Usually he was a fairly cheery person around Bucky, even when he was having a bad body day, but during the five or six when Steve was constantly reminded of what was between his legs the poor guy retreated into himself and didn't come out until he’d gone through half a box of Kotex.

Bucky hardly knew what to do during those days. He’d been surrounded by menstruating women for his whole life, so he understood exactly how shitty periods could be, and he wasn’t afraid to talk about it. Steve was… far less vocal. He didn’t talk about how it felt, aside from one gritty  _ It feels like someone has submerged my entire pelvis in lava, Bucky! I can’t even shit without it hurting, and let me tell you somethin’—my body wants to shit a whole bunch right now! _ when Bucky was prying too much one day.

Bucky  _ wanted _ him to talk about it, but he didn’t want to push him beyond what he was comfortable with.

Steve’d been living with Bucky for almost eight months now, and Steve’s periods were the biggest and most unspoken problem with their living arrangement to date. He could tell that Steve wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but when Bucky was home and could hear Steve moaning and crying in the next room he couldn’t help but offer to help. 

Luckily, Steve only got the mensies every couple of months, for whatever reason, so they’d only suffered through three or four cycles together. Yeah, the week sucked for both of them—Steve hated his body  _ way _ more than he usually did, and Bucky felt useless as shit—but at least it was an infrequent curse.

Bucky nudged the pillow under Steve’s head, gently as he could. For a minute, Steve looked content and not completely distraught in spite of the tears on his cheeks, but he soon grumbled “‘M not comfy anymore,” and flipped over to lie on his back.

“You want a hot-water bottle?” Bucky asked, and Steve groaned again and covered his scrunched-up eyes with his hands. 

It agonised Bucky to see Steve so desperately sad and pained, so he left the room to prepare a hot-water bottle to ease Steve’s cramps. While the water was boiling, he yelled to ask if Steve had taken any pain meds, but he got an indistinct grunt in response.

Bucky returned to Steve’s side—he was in the fetal position now, with one of his legs pulled right up against his chest. It didn’t look comfortable  _ at all _ , but at least he wasn’t crying anymore—and handed him the hot-water bottle. Steve opened his eyes for a second, whispered out a sad little _Thank you_ , then closed his eyes again.

Bucky left him alone again. He went into their bedroom and tried to focus on writing something in his journal, but he just ended up writing about Steve. 

And, after ten or so minutes of mostly-silence, Steve started to cry again. Not a quiet cry, either. Steve full-on bawled, retched, and whimpered, sounding for all the world like a wounded dog. Bucky knew it was just the natural end product of how he felt physically (the cramps) and how he felt mentally (the dysphoria that drove him half-mad during his period) and Bucky knew that it would pass soon, but he couldn’t ignore it for long.

Bucky changed into his pyjamas and walked back into the front room with a stack of comfy clothes for Steve. The man in question was lying completely on his front in the middle of the floor, sobbing into a pillow. 

“Hey, Stevie, I brought you some comfy clothes.”

Steve raised one arm limply into the air and waved him down. Bucky took that to mean  _ fuck you and fuck your clothes _ , and he laid the pyjamas on the end of the couch. He sat on the floor beside Steve and held his arms open, just in case Steve wanted some human contact.

He didn’t usually, when he got bad like this, but apparently today he did. Steve dragged himself up from the floor and flopped into Bucky’s lap. He shoved the hot-water bottle between them, so close that Bucky could feel the heat burning his skin through his pyjama t-shirt, and then Steve began to cry into said shirt.

Bucky shushed him and stroked his hair. Steve was a little sweaty and far too warm for Bucky’s liking, and he was  _ crying _ , but at least he was letting Bucky touch him.

“You know my sister?” Bucky said softly. He pulled his fingertips lightly along Steve’s scalp, carding his fingers through his hair.

“The donut store one?” Steve sniffled.

Bucky snorted and ruffled Steve’s hair, “That’s the only sis I’ve got, you dope. Yeah, her. She’s got endometriosis and she has really shitty cramps, so I know how you’re feeling.” Steve stiffened and pulled away from Bucky. His hand fell from Steve’s head when he moved, and Bucky frowned. “What’s up?”

“You’re not helpin’,” Steve mumbled, his eyes all puffy and red and his voice all achy and sad, and Bucky’s heart  _ broke _ . “I know you’re tryna make me feel better, but comparing me to your  _ sister _ isn’t helpin’.”

Bucky blanched. God, he hadn’t even  _ thought _ about that.

He started to apologise, but Steve just waved him down again. Steve staggered to his feet, clutching his lower stomach and moaning all the while, then walked out of the room. He curled right back into himself, all hunched shoulders and slow steps, and Bucky felt  _ awful _ . He’d just been trying to help, and he’d fucked it up even more. Steve had _more_ than enough to deal with, without Bucky saying dumb stuff like that.

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky muttered to himself. He stood up and followed Steve, hot-water bottle in hand.

“I wanna be alone,” Steve complained, when Bucky followed him into the bedroom. “Just let me deal with this, alright? I don’t wanna drag you into it. It’s just—” Steve grimaced and closed his eyes before he spoke again, “It’s just a  _ period _ , Buck. It’ll be over in a few days, then we can go back to normal and you can stop worrying about me. Alright?”

Bucky frowned.

“No, it’s not alright,” he said, and Steve groaned.

“Buck—”

“No,  _ listen _ ,” Bucky persisted. He walked over to the bed, sat on it, then patted the mattress beside him. Steve ( _ very _ reluctantly, apparently) sat next to him. Bucky handed him the hot-water bottle, watching as he pressed it to his stomach, then continued to speak. “I  _ wanna _ worry about you, Stevie. I care about you and I love you, and I hate to see you so sad, so just let me help, okay? I know I’m kinda shitty at helping  _ now _ , but I’m gonna try and get better. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Steve didn’t say anything. He stared at his feet, which were dangling a couple of inches away from the ground. After a second or two of silence, he leaned in close to Bucky and rested his sweaty head on his shoulder.

After another second, he snaked his hand out from between their bodies and held Bucky’s prosthetic hand. Bucky couldn’t feel it when Steve squeezed his hand, but the meaning was there. Bucky smiled and leaned around to ruffle Steve’s hair with his other hand. “We good?”

Steve nodded against his shoulder, and for half a second Bucky could feel that million dollar smile creep onto Steve’s face, “Yeah. We’re always gonna be good, Buck.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am actually trans (exactly like Steve) so I have drawn on my own experience as a transgender person in modern society. I know everyone experiences being trans in a different way, but this is just my side of it.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr [here](http://clokkerfoot.tumblr.com/).


End file.
